A Series of Calculations
by Eighth Knight
Summary: A few changes in focus can make a huge difference.
1. Chapter 1

"Wake up, Harry!" Aunt Petunia's screech pierced through Harry's motorcycle dream. He jolted awake, blindly grabbing at the glasses on the bedside table. As he focused through them, he could see his fuming aunt.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia. Sorry, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, swiftly rolling out of bed and making it.

His aunt seemed to relax a little. "Laziness is unhealthy," she chided him. "Wash up and do your homework before breakfast."

Harry nodded glumly. Uncle Vernon had recently upped the level of his homework again, so he was now four years ahead of the rest of his class. He'd only had one tutoring session so far, so he was still trying to get used to the more difficult problems. Pushed on by the pangs of hunger, Harry worked diligently through the thirty or so maths problems. Today it was mostly multiplying and adding polynomials, nothing too difficult, so Harry was able to finish in around half an hour.

Yawning, he went down to the kitchen, where Aunt Petunia was laying out a hearty breakfast for the whole family. Uncle Vernon was dressed in a fine suit, and Dudley, back from his morning jog, was gulping down a glass of orange juice.

Harry set into his breakfast, gulping it down under Aunt Petunia's critical gaze. Once he was done, she whisked away his plate and sent him to get the mail.

Harry walked back into the kitchen and placed the mail on the table.

"Can I have the tutor today?" he asked Aunt Petunia, as Uncle Vernon flipped through the mail.

Dudley slammed his hand down on the table, rattling the plates and silverware.

"No! You can't! _I_ need the tutor!"

"Shush, Dudley," Aunt Petunia said. "You can have him when Dudley's done," she told Harry, ignoring Dudley's shriek of rage.

Uncle Vernon suddenly started ripping up one of the letters furiously.

Harry turned to see his Uncle gathering the scraps of paper, dumping them into the sink and turning on the faucet. Shaking slightly with rage, his Uncle turned back towards them, apparently focused on the ceiling.

"Harry'll get the tutor for today, Dudley," he said in a deceptively calm voice. "And tomorrow, and the day after that, until he's at Year Eleven."

"But-" Dudley protested, until Uncle Vernon's veins bulged and eyes flickered towards Dudley. Dudley stomped off to his room.

Uncle Vernon stared at the ceiling again. "You've got a few hours until the tutor arrives," he said. "I'd study hard if I were you."

Harry made his escape, but he stayed at the door to listen in on Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's conversation.

"Do you think it's too late?" Aunt Petunia sounded worried.

There was a brief silence.

"I don't know," Uncle Vernon said, "He stopped that freakishness after we made him do Dudley's homework." He sounded unsure of himself.

"Well, even if they take him away, at least Dudley's learned a strong work ethic from him." 

"Don't say that, Vernon," Aunt Petunia said. "We're not letting them take him away. I still remember that awful man."

"Alright, alright, we'll keep him. With luck, the work he does will keep that freakishness at bay and they'll just forget about him."

A longer silence fell, then Uncle Vernon said, "I'll go check on him, make sure he's working hard."

Harry hurried away silently.

It was a frustrating day for Harry, working through a double heaping of math questions under the guidance of the college student who served as his tutor. All the while, Dudley fumed nearby, writing essays and studying ahead. Harry didn't know someone could write passive-aggressively, but Dudley made it work.

Lunch was a sad affair, the tutor munching through a sandwich while Harry hastily worked through his own. Vernon was off on some lunch meeting, so Harry was at least free from his occasional interruptions to confirm Harry's progress.

Uncle Vernon seemed to have calmed down by then, though, since he pronounced Harry's progress adequate and swapped the tutor over to Dudley. Harry got a double dose of homework and the promise of pudding upon completion.

With pudding in his stomach and a feeling of exhaustion, Harry went to sleep.

The next day, Harry finished up some more work before Mass. Dressed in traditional clothing, Harry suffered through a boring lecture about the importance of something-or-other. On the way back, Dudley noticed that the mailbox flag was up.

"There's no mail on Sundays," Harry said, puzzled. Uncle Vernon swiftly strode over to retrieve the mail, which he gave a brief glance before tearing it apart. Aunt Petunia looked concerned, and Dudley and Harry shared a puzzled glance. Uncle Vernon calmly ordered Harry and Dudley into the house, before engaging in a whispered conversation with Aunt Petunia.

Harry was about to get a start on the more difficult polynomial problems when Uncle Vernon entered the house and announced that they were taking an impromptu vacation.

"I'm gonna miss class!" Dudley whined.

"Don't worry, dear, you'll keep up with your work. You'll both bring it with you."

Uncle Vernon briefly paused on the stairs. "We'll be leaving in an hour and a half. No dilly-dallying."

"What's going on?" Harry asked Aunt Petunia.

"Don't worry about it. Get packing, and make sure to take your homework!"

Harry went to his room and shoveled his meager possessions into a small traveling bag. He made sure to bring his homework books. No telling what Uncle Vernon might do if he 'forgot' them. Harry remembered the last time that had happened.

Meanwhile, Dudley was alternating between whining about how he wasn't going to be able to skip another year (this would've been his third) if everyone kept holding him back, and haphazardly placing his own much greater quantity of stuff into a traveling bag.

Harry watched him from the sidelines, munching on a sandwich, until Aunt Petunia gave him the choice of helping Dudley pack or doing some extra math problems. Harry elected to do the problems.

Meanwhile, Uncle Vernon was apparently making rapid schedule changes to accomodate the sudden getaway and had been in his study, shouting at various underlings and speaking softly to his superiors. Aunt Petunia was packing for two, and she went about it with typical efficiency, popping down to the kitchen midway through to prepare some snacks for the road.

Eventually, Uncle Vernon finished his phone calls and stomped down to shout at Dudley, who began packing with much greater focus.

Half an hour behind schedule, and the family of four were driving down the highway.

"We're going rather quickly," Aunt Petunia said nervously, gazing out the window at the other cars being steadily overtaken.

"No worries," Uncle Vernon said, though he slowed down slightly.

An awkward pause predominated. Harry stared out the window, pondering the circumstances.

"So, ah, where are we going?" Harry asked.

"It's a surprise," Uncle Vernon said, testily. "Now be quiet."

Dudley had had the foresight to bring along a book to read, but he adamantly refused to share it with Harry, resulting in a swift impromptu kicking match. Dudley glared at Harry. Harry gave up. It was probably something boring anyway. The dreary England scenery passed by. Harry nodded off to sleep.

He dreamed of a flying motorcycle, and a dog in a prison cell.

"Wake up!" Dudley said.

Harry startled, then adjusted his glasses. They had arrived at a little bed-and-breakfast out in the middle of nowhere. Fields of brilliant green grass spread out across both sides of the road, interrupted only by the occasional ranch or farm. Distantly, Harry heard the bleating of sheep.

The bed-and-breakfast was a trio of small buildings, all painted pastel pink. Though the hotel appeared old and worn, it was still kept in a state of pristine cleanliness, and the flowerbeds beneath the windows were full of vibrant flowers.

"It'll be nice to see Agatha again," Uncle Vernon said cheerfully, as he dragged out the traveling bags.

"We used to come here all the time," Aunt Petunia said fondly to Harry and Dudley. "We'd go picnicking. I hope Agatha still has those honey cakes."

Uncle Vernon, Harry, and Dudley carried the traveling bags up the stone path to the central building, while Aunt Petunia followed, making various comments on the beauty of the bed-and-breakfast and Agatha's ingenuity and excellent work ethic.

They walked into the cozy inn, to see a puzzled woman behind the counter. She looked quite surprised to see them.

"Ah, Vernon!"

The three exchanged pleasantries for a while, introducing Dudley and Harry.

"Well, yes, I was wondering about that," Agatha said.

Uncle Vernon suddenly looked worried.

"Only, I got this letter, see," Agatha said, showing them.

Uncle Vernon's face darkened.

"It's addressed to me!" Harry said.

Uncle Vernon snatched it from Agatha.

"Some disturbing prank, it looks like. We've received similar letters before, you know."

Agatha looked horrified. "Well then you simply must inform the police!

"No, not at all," Vernon said, "You know those high-spirited hooligans, the best thing to do is simply to ignore them."

"But how did they know you were coming here?"

"Oh, we've been speaking about it for a good week now," Uncle Vernon chuckled. "They must've thought themselves so clever!"

"No we didn't," Dudley suddenly said.

"Quiet, now, Dudley," Aunt Petunia said.

"We didn't tell anyone we were going anywhere," Dudley insisted.

"Petunia, take Dudley and Harry up to their rooms, please," Uncle Vernon said.

Petunia rushed Harry and Dudley up the stairs.

"We don't even have a room yet," Dudley pointed out.

"Well, we'll just wait here then," Aunt Petunia said, breathless.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, "What's in that letter?"

"Never you mind about that."

"It's addressed to me. I want to read it."

Aunt Petunia frowned at him. "It's some kind of disturbing prank. You don't need nonsense like that filling up your head; it'll give you nightmares."

"Well if it's just a prank, then why is Uncle Vernon so upset about it?" Harry asked.

Aunt Petunia gave him a long look. "If you must know, the disturbing nonsense in the letter happens to be similar to another nonsensical prank that someone played on your mother a long time ago. It was very hurtful and, well," Aunt Petunia hesitated, "it caused your mother and I to be…distant from each other for a long time. Vernon knows about it and he doesn't want us to get hurt."

Harry digested that. Dudley looked interested.

Uncle Vernon showed up eventually, with the keys to their rooms.

"Took a while, but I calmed her down. We've got adjacent rooms. We'll have an early night and

go have fun picnicking tomorrow. You can all hear Agatha's stories. It'll be fun!"

"What about the letter?" Dudley asked. Uncle Vernon frowned at him.

"Never mind that. To the rooms!"

Uncle Vernon led them to the two rooms.

"This'll be your and Harry's room," Uncle Vernon said, opening the door. "Don't worry about your homework for today. You can-"

Aunt Petunia hissed, "You!"

"Me," a slimy voice came from the dark room. Aunt Petunia flipped the switch.

In the room's only chair sat a tall, thin man with long, greasy black hair. He was dressed in strange black robes and held a roll of parchment loosely in his hand. He sneered at them.

"You," he said, pointing at Harry.

"Me?" Harry asked.

Aunt Petunia stood in front of Harry protectively.

"I won't let you take him!"

"You?" the man asked, amused.

"Me," Aunt Petunia confirmed.

"What is going on?!" Dudley asked.

"You never told him?" the man asked. Then he chuckled. "No, of course you didn't."

He raised his voice. "You're a wizard, Harry."


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm what?" Harry asked, incredulously.

"A wizard, Harry," said the man.

"But I can't be a wizard, I'm just Harry," Harry said.

"Well, 'Just Harry', you're a wizard!" The man sounded annoyed.

"Bu-" Harry began, but the man made a swift gesture and Harry lost his voice. As Harry clutched at his throat in panic, the man continued.

"Wizards can do magic," he said slowly, enunciating his words carefully. "Because you, Harry, are a wizard, you can do magic. Nod if you understand so far."

Harry glared balefully at the insulting man, who smirked.

"That's enough," Uncle Vernon said suddenly, pushing everyone out of the way. He advanced on the mysterious man, waving his finger threateningly.

"If-" he said, and then collapsed to the ground, limp. Aunt Petunia soundlessly screamed, before collapsing herself.

Dudley elected to remain quiet.

"At least someone in your family has sense," the man sighed. He dismissively waved at Aunt Petunia. "Though I'm honestly astonished that Tuny here actually lucked into a kid with half a brain. Sit down, the two of you."

Dudley sat crosslegged on the floor next to Uncle Vernon. Harry sat on the bed. The man retrieved a stick from his sleeve and idly waved it. The door slammed closed.

"My name is Professor Snape. I am a teacher at a school that teaches young wizards and witches to control their magic. No doubt you've noticed events out of the ordinary occurring around you, especially when you were in an emotionally charged state?"

Harry and Dudley shot each a confused look.

Professor Snape sighed. "You've noticed strange things happening when you were upset or angry, right?" he said, much more sharply.

Harry still couldn't speak, so he shot a pleading look at Dudley, who stepped up to the plate.

"Um, no? We've never seen anything like that," Dudley said, fidgeting.

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow and leaned forwards. "Really?" he said, sounding interested. He pulled a beautiful yellow flower out of nowhere and handed it to Harry.

"Let's test it then," he said, waving his wand at Harry.

Harry felt cold, a creeping dread, an absolute and complete certainty that he was about to die. The terror held him so tight that he could not even breathe. His vision dimmed as he felt lightheaded, and he began to collap-

The feeling disappeared. Harry gasped, holding on to the bed.

"There, see?" Professor Snape sound pleased. The flower Harry held in his hand was now withered to a gray husk.

Harry stood up. No way he was staying around someone who did things like _that_.

He was suddenly pushed down again.

"Where would you even go?" Professor Snape said, sounding amused. "You can't even talk until I undo my spell."

Harry glared at him.

"So, as a wizard, you are required to attend Hogwarts for seven years. You will learn the basics of magic to the point where you can get some job or other. Since you will require certain materials, ex: books, robes, etcetera, we will have to arrange some shopping trip. You will attend beginning in early September. Instructions and other details are listed in _this_ letter," Professor Snape retrieved it, again from nowhere, and handed it to Harry. "Now then, since you showing up with your current gormlessness would reflect badly on me, I will have to inform you of some additional cultural information." Professor Snape took a deep breath and leaned forwards.

"Do you know how your parents died?"

Harry tried to respond, but Professor Snape's spell remained.

"Mom and Dad said they died in a car crash," Dudley said.

Professor Snape chuckled. "A car crash? I forget how fragile muggles are."

"Muggles are non-magic users?" Dudley guessed.

Professor Snape nodded. "Harry's parents were wizards. It's unlikely that they would have died in a car crash, had they been in one. Rather, they were killed by a dangerous wizard referred to as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Dudley scrunched up his nose. "That's a stupid name," he said.

Professor Snape smiled. "Don't let a wizard or witch hear you say that. You have no idea that fear and chaos he spread throughout the wizarding world. When he tried to kill Harry, however, he suddenly disappeared. For this reason, you," he said, looking at Harry, "are renowned throughout the wizarding world as the 'Boy-Who-Lived'."

Harry was starting to get very sick of this silencing spell. If he really was a magickal wizard with wizardly magicks, he should be able to get rid of it. He started concentrating on the concept of speech, imagining himself talking in various situations. Focusing on his desire to speak, Harry tried to reach his magic.

Meanwhile, Dudley was saying, "So Harry is like, some kind of ultra-wizard?" He stared at Harry, probably imagining him on some cliff summoning a thunderstorm.

Professor Snape shook his head, "Doubtful, most doubtful. Headmaster Dumbledore, arguably the greatest wizard of the age, performed some rather extensive tests on him after we confirmed the defeat of the Dark Lord."

"Then, Harry must've absorbed the Dark Lord's power! He can probably use it but it corrupts his soul," Dudley guessed, grinning widely.

"That was actually the first thing we checked for, before the 'savant' theory," Professor Snape said. "No, I'm afraid that Harry here is a rather depressingly average wizard."

"But that's boring," Dudley objected. "He should have something cooler if he beat a evil wizard."

"Personally, I take it as evidence of a weak personality and lack of moral fibre," Professor Snape contributed.

Harry felt the weave of the magic through his soul, a vague hallucination that involved some sixth sense. And he could sense his Will as a sign, woven through the threads of Power. His Will was the Word, and his Power ignited the threads. They pushed up against the Serpentine thread, and died out. Harry felt the burned-out threads return to his soul, where they were torn apart and reconstituted anew.

Harry briefly returned to reality, to hear Professor Snape saying, "An amusing idea, no doubt. But, no, we do not have to worry about these 'spell slots'. You must allow me to copy this book of yours. Studying Muggle interpretations of magic has always been a hobby of mine."

Harry decided that he didn't really like this reality and returned to the sixth sense.

His Will was the Sign. The Sign of what? An image of speech, a concept made concrete, a cause and effect distilled into a singular form, comprehensible to the universe. He formed the Sign, clearer now. His Will was the Word, and his Power ignited the threads. They died out, and were reborn anew.

Harry still couldn't speak. Return to Start.

He repeatedly failed to undo the silencing spell, even as he clarified the Sign further and further. No matter what he did, whenever the threads reached the silencing spell they immediately burned out.

Giving up for the time being, he reluctantly redirected his attention towards Professor Snape.

"Aha, no," Professor Snape was saying. "I suppose you might call it an intersection between the two, where we must both be born with the magic and engage in intense study-"

Harry clapped his hands to grab his attention, then gestured furiously at his mouth.

"What? Oh, yes, I forgot about that," Snape said, flicking his wand. Harry felt the Serpentine spell unravel, the threads being pulled away.

"Please don't do that again," Harry asked warily. Professor Snape smiled slightly.

"In any case, back to business. You will need your school materials and a more thorough cultural primer. I have some free time next Wednesday, so be ready at nine'o'clock sharp."

"Can I come?" Dudley asked, his eyes bright.

"Hmm, no. I'm afraid this is a wizard-only expedition," Professor Snape said. Dudley's face fell.

Professor Snape suddenly looked very irritated. "Hmm, memories." His face changed to a more neutral expression. "Some advice, Dudley. Leave thoughts of the wizarding world behind. Focus on your own life. I can assure you that the glamour of magic is visible only from the outside, in any case. What seems to you to be a blessing beyond any other is nothing remotely close to such."

Dudley briefly considered this, then nodded in the way that Harry recognized as a signal of his intent to ignore the advice.

"What about Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked.

"They can't come either," Professor Snape replied.

"No, I mean," Harry shook his head. "They clearly hate the idea of me being a wizard, so what if they try to stop it or take my stuff after I get it?"

"Oh, that," Professor Snape said dismissively. "Your Aunt, at the very least, knows what happens to muggles who cause trouble for their kids. No, I don't think you'll have any issues on that part."

Harry wasn't so sure, but what was there to say?

—

Well, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were clearly very upset about the whole matter, but they had a furious whispered conversation for a long while and came out of it with the joint decision to pretend it wasn't happening.

"As far as we, and everybody else we know, are concerned, Harry has been accepted to a far-off boarding school, tuition paid," Aunt Petunia said, as the four sat in one of the bedrooms of the bed-and-breakfast. "It was arranged by his parents before their deaths, god rest their souls, and we just had to honor their wishes. But I won't have magic of any kind in the house. You'll keep your wand and any toys you have locked in your room, or I'll confiscate them until you go. And I won't have any pets, either," she added. "I remember that ghastly creature your mother brought home."

Harry thought a pet would be great, but resolved to not push his luck.

"And absolutely no going after any _Dark Lords_." Aunt Petunia said the words 'Dark Lords' with the same tone of voice she used for 'foot fungus'. "I won't have it, not while you're living under my roof. Those kinds of people are all drug addicted hippies pushing leftist ideas around, and I simply won't! Have! It!"

Harry briefly wondered whether Aunt Petunia was talking about the Dark Lords or the people fighting them.

Uncle Vernon had remained sullenly silent throughout Aunt Petunia's instructions, but now he started nodding vigorously.

"I know their type," he said viciously, his face slowly turning red with political rage. "Filthy lowlives, making others clean up after their mess, pushing their broken ideologies in court and expecting _us_ to pick up their share of the workload. It didn't use to be like this, you know. Britain was great once. We were the kings of the world! A beacon of civilization, an example! Back then we had _standards!_ Not like today, where half the damn populace's a bunch of druggies who'd rather live on the street than get a decent job." Uncle Vernon continued ranting about a wide variety of groups, blaming hippies, gangsters, criminals, and politicians for the general state of affairs, the collapse of the moral standard, the slowing down of the economy, and, presumably, the collapse of the British Empire.

Harry continued to wonder which group he was talking about. Dudley listened carefully, eventually pulling out a small spiral notebook and making notes.

Uncle Vernon's rant was eventually cut short by teatime, and the family took it in Agatha's lobby. It was a pleasant affair, as Agatha brought out her record player and let the soothing classical music suffuse the room with an air of calm cheer.

"So," Harry asked Aunt Petunia, "you know Professor Snape?"

"Oh, I know him alright," Aunt Petunia said, loathing dripping from voice like the tea from the shaking cup she held in her hand. "That man is the lowest life form on the planet. I have known evolutionists with better manners, communists with more sense, Irishmen with more temperance, and Catholics with superior morals. The Pope himself would disdain to take tea with him, an Arab would consider him perverse, and an editor of the _Mirror_ would think him excessively dishonest."

"It sounds like you don't like him," Dudley remarked.

"God alone can judge a man," Aunt Petunia said, primly, "as I'm sure Mister Snape will discuss at length with Lucifer."

Harry decided to obtain information about Professor Snape from less biased sources.

Later they had a picnic. It was very nice. Agatha's lemon cakes were indeed delicious.

The following Wednesday, Harry was ready at nine'o'clock, when a sharp knock came at the door.

—To Be Continued—


	3. Chapter 3

As Professor Snape entered the house, Harry was ready. Dressed in his Sunday best, his glasses held together by the finest tape, he stood at attention, a soldier in a pioneering war. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia, similarly clad in uncomfortably formal clothing.

Professor Snape took one look at him and stifled a chuckle.

"You're late," Aunt Petunia said. He wasn't.

"Hmmm," Professor Snape said, giving her a slight smirk. "Regardless, I certainly don't want to spend any more time in your company than absolutely necessary, so I think we should be off."

Aunt Petunia tsked. "You must think me mad to leave him alone with you. I shall be the chaperone."

Professor Snape looked aghast. "Bringing you into the wizarding world? That's what's mad. No, no, that's unacceptable."

"You're unacceptable," Aunt Petunia snapped. "I will chaperone. This is non-negotiable."

"There's no precedent for this," Professor Snape said.

"A bold-faced lie," Aunt Petunia replied, crossing her arms. "My parents accompanied my sister. Furthermore, it's my duty to protect him as his guardian."

In all honesty, Harry would have preferred Aunt Petunia stayed at home, but he was pretty sure there was no way to suggest such a thing without a three hour screaming match.

Professor Snape stayed silent for a long time, his face devoid of expression. Harry held out hope that he would object and take Harry alone, but eventually he said, "Very well. But on no account must you disobey me with regards to interactions for the duration of the trip."

Aunt Petunia bristled at this, but Professor Snape continued unabated. "Let me make this clear. I personally know quite a number of people who'd happily see you burn for intruding into the wizarding world. Your…charming personality will do nothing to dissuade them."

"Hmph," Aunt Petunia gave a slight sneer. "Typical barbarity."

Professor Snape seemed to restrain himself from speaking.

"And what precisely is on the agenda for today?" Aunt Petunia asked imperiously, her chin jutting forward.

"In order, the acquisition of funds, the procurement of essential tools and materials, and the obtaining of non-essentials, according to my experienced judgement-"

"Not without my input," Aunt Petunia interrupted.

"I shall endeavor to draw upon your wealth of knowledge and experience of what it's like to be a wizard," Professor Snape said politely.

"I hope you will similarly endeavor not to burden and corrupt the boy with your rotten attitude and behavior," Aunt Petunia said coldly.

"I assure you, I am incapable of such a thing." Professor Snape then muttered something under his breath that sounded like "living with you, after all".

"Pardon?" Aunt Petunia asked loudly.

"I was clearing my throat," Professor Snape said, smiling slightly. "Shall we be off?"

Aunt Petunia stepped forward imperiously, dragging Harry behind her.

Professor Snape extended a hand towards each of them. "Come with me and we'll be in a world of pure imagination," he said, smirking.

Harry took his hand, and the world spun around him. A dizzying array of colors filled his vision, and a chorus of differently pitched screeches echoed through his mind. He smelled brimstone and roses, and felt a great pressure squeezing him on all sides.

An interminable instant passed, and Harry was deposited, reeling, onto a dirty street. He stumbled, retching, and vomited onto a wall.

He heard Professor Snape tsk and saw the vomit vanish from the wall. The taste disappeared from his mouth in the same moment.

"Disgraceful," Aunt Petunia muttered, and Harry turned to see her none the worse for wear. She tapped her plain cane on to the ground, gazing around in vague disgust. The street was only slightly busy, despite the chaos of colorful shops crammed together. THE AVIARY proclaimed its stock of purebred owls in glowing bright green letters, while "Jones' Broomstick Emporium" jutted out from above it, a multi-hued rope ladder leading up to a trap door. The pattern continued, with all the color coordination of a manic pixie and design sense of a drunk avant-garde. In the distance, Harry could see a large, elegant, golden tower.

"Ah, yes, I almost forgot," Professor Snape said, tapping Harry on the head with his wand. Harry felt the sensation of warm water pouring over him, and he quickly jumped away. Yet he wasn't wet.

"Let's not attract unwanted attention. We'll need a pseudonym for him as well. How about 'Harold Dursley'?"

"Absolutely not," Aunt Petunia said, tapping her cane slightly harder for emphasis. She thought for a moment. "Harold Evans."

"If we're using his mother's name, we should change his first one as well."

"Jonathan Evans, then."

Professor Snape nodded in agreement. "Let us be off, then. To Gringotts."

"That is what passes for a bank for wizards, yes?" Aunt Petunia and Professor Snape walked briskly, so Harry had to jog to keep up.

"It's more than a bank," Professor Snape replied, "it's the-"

"Economic center of Magical Britain," Aunt Petunia finished. "Lily complained at length of it."

Professor Snape's lip quirked in a smile. "Can they not see that their shortsighted blockade will only lead to economic stress?" he quoted.

"Quite," Aunt Petunia said, though she wasn't smiling.

Though a few robe-clad wizards and witches threw uncomfortable glances at Aunt Petunia, they moved aside before her brisk walk all the same, and so the trio arrived at Gringotts in good time.

What a palace! Seven gold towers arose from random points from the building, the eastmost by far the tallest. The style of decoration on the building was if the Greek God Pan had attempted Art-Deco, a clashing array of twisted-faced gargoyles amid pleasant geometric patterns etched in silver and white gold. Above the massive entryway, the engraving of a massive sword, blade pointed to the east, lay. Professor Snape flicked out his wand as they approached, and as Harry passed through and felt a rush of cold water, he also felt the tapping of the Professor's wand and the previous sensation of warm water pouring over him. They strode through the near-empty hall towards the teller's desks on the side, where goblins (and what else could they be called, their large noses and pointed ears complementing their very large eyes) worked industriously at their respective notebooks.

"Greetings," Professor Snape said, and gestured.

"Greetings," Aunt Petunia echoed, but Harry was too busy staring at the goblin to take notice until Aunt Petunia roughly jostled him.

"G-greetings," he stammered, blushing.

"Greetings returned," said the goblin. "And what will Severus Snape be requiring today?"

"I come here on behalf of the boy, one Harry Potter. Here is his custodian, Petunia Evans. We seek a financial transaction, if you please."

"I, Dreukshmantoshin Sniefelgil, do please. Follow, who come in good faith."

The goblin teller walked around the desk and beckoned towards them. The trio followed him through a maze of twisty (literally, in one case, as the hallway twisted around until they were walking on the walls), doorless corridors until they arrived at a simple wooden door. The goblin led them through into a small wooden room devoid of anything but a tiny standing desk. The goblin stepped around the desk and looked at them.

"State the request."

"I, Severus Snape, speak on behalf of Harry Potter, with the consent of his custodian, Petunia Evans, to obtain liquidated financial assets, of an appropriate amount."

"Is this agreed?" the goblin asked them.

"It is agreed," Aunt Petunia said.

"It-it's agreed," Harry said, all eyes on him again in a very disconcerting manner.

"The entities are in agreement," the goblin said, "such as I stand to witness. Sign here, if you will."

A sheet of paper suddenly appeared on the desk, and the goblin produced a silver quill and ink bottle of golden ink from nowhere, presenting it to them.

Professor Snape signed on the first line, Aunt Petunia on the second, and Harry, very messily, on the third.

"The deal is made."

"I would like to ask some questions," Aunt Petunia said calmly. Professor Snape's nose wrinkled in irritation.

"I shall endeavor to answer them truthfully," the goblin said, and though his expression didn't change, Harry suddenly got the impression that he was nervous.

"How is wizarding currency structured?" Aunt Petunia asked.

"There exist three forms. Bronze Knuts, Silver Sickles, and Gold Galleons. There are 29 Knuts to a Sickle and 13 Sickles to a Galleon."

"Why are the numbers like that?" Harry asked. The goblin kept his eyes fixed firmly on Aunt Petunia.

"Why are the ratios between the forms such numbers?" Aunt Petunia asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Those numbers are associated with magical antinodes in Arithmancy associated with metal," the goblin said.

Aunt Petunia thought for a moment, then nodded.

"What is the exchange rate between dollars and Galleons?" she asked.

"There is no strict exchange rate," the goblin replied. "Exchanges are rare and handled on a case by case basis."

"If I may offer elucidation?" Professor Snape chimed in. The goblin nodded.

"Exchanges are on a case-by-case basis to prevent exploitation of the difference of values between the wizarding and muggle markets," Professor Snape said.

"Those are all my questions. Thank you," Aunt Petunia said calmly. The goblin seemed tense.

"If I may interpret?" Professor Snape addressed Aunt Petunia. She nodded.

Professor Snape turned to the goblin. "Petunia Evans has great respect for Gringotts. Her previous statement was merely an expression of that respect, and should not be taken as anything more or other."

"Understood," the goblin said, relaxing.

"We have no other business here today. Farewell," Professor Snape said.

"Farewell," echoed Aunt Petunia. Harry stammered it out a half-beat after her.

"Farewell," the goblin said, and Professor Snape led them out the door, which opened out not back into the hallway, but out into the wider world. Harry looked, and saw they were emerging from a door some distance away from the main entrance. The door swung back behind them and promptly vanished.

"They seemed tolerable," Aunt Petunia commented. Professor Snape nodded in agreement.

"Really? That was terrifying," Harry said, astonished.

The two adults looked at him in confusion.

"Children," muttered Aunt Petunia.

"Let us proceed, forthwith," Professor Snape said, and led them onto their next destination.

OLLIVANDER'S

Est. 382 B.C.

"An old shop," Aunt Petunia commented. "With a good reputation, I hope?"

"The very best wand shop around, at least in Magical Britain," Professor Snape said, and swept Harry inside the dark shop. As Harry's eyes quickly adjusted, he saw that the shelves were stacked with little boxes of various makes. An old man came tottering out of the deepest shadows, his hair a few thin white strands, his eyes large and pale blue, almost glowing in the dim light.

"You are Mr. Ollivander?" Aunt Petunia asked.

"I am. And what lovely specter do I see before me?" the man said, smiling.

"I am Mrs. Petunia Dursley, and this is my nephew, Jonathan Evans. We are here to purchase a standard-issue wand."

"Aheh," Mr. Ollivander said. "There is no such thing. The interplay between the Will and the Wand is more subtle than many realize." He took a little box from his desk and opened it, retrieving a slender wand from within. "Walnut, 9 inches, unicorn hair core. Dominant hand, please."

Harry took the wooden stick and swished it around aimlessly. Faint white sparks burst out the end. Ollivander immediately plucked it out of his hand.

"Hmmm, no. Try this one," Ollivander said as he smoothly moved to a different box. "11 and a half inches, sycamore. Dragon heartstring."

"Interplay?" Aunt Petunia prompted.

"The wand should be uniquely suited to the wizard who carries it. There is a certain…feedback that comes with magic use. That won't do either; try this one: Spruce, 13 inches. Unicorn hair."

"It's not dangerous, is it?" Aunt Petunia asked.

"Hmmm, no," Ollivander snatched the wand out of Harry's hand again. Harry was starting to get sick of that. "Yew, unicorn hair. 12 and a half inches."

"How many attempts does it usually take to find an appropriate wand?" Aunt Petunia asked.

"It varies. The relationship between a wand and its wielder is idiosyncratic."

"It's not merely a tool?" Aunt Petunia demanded.

"No. I often say that the wand chooses the wizard. Try this one. Cherry, veela hair. 10 inches."

"Wait just one moment," Aunt Petunia said firmly, stamping her cane against the floor. "Do you mean to tell me that the wand is sentient?"

Harry waved the wand. As with the others, a faint array of sparks shot out. Ollivander and Aunt Petunia began arguing about something. Harry closed his eyes.

"Borrowed, in a way, you see-"

"You are being very wooly about this. I must know,"

His Will was the Word, and the Wand held the Will/Word. Or rather, a spiderweb pattern of the soul, twisted into an aberration that echoed throughout reality. Then, a river, channeled. Light growing stronger from fuel on fire.

Harry breathed in.

For the Will was the Wand, and the Wand held the Word. Light, for that was his will. Pure, unbending.

"Safe for many generations, never a complaint"

"Perhaps these people do not have issues with ignorance, but I will not let"

Will, the Word, the Wand. Ignite the thread of the soul. Harry had no spell to focus on, no reference point. The Soul, untempered. Vision, vague. An ever-shifting metaphor that granted no insight into Action.

No sense of focus, no point. No Will without Vision. No Vision without Knowledge. No Knowledge without Tutelage. No Tutelage without Talent. No Talent without Will. A paradoxical cycle.

But false, patently so. The Vision, vague.

"Gallivanting around with something that might turn against"

"A companionship, cannot…without the sense"

The Word. Light. The Will. Supplied. The Wand. Held. Harry now felt faintly the threads of the Soul. A single faint thread, shadow of a shadow, woven through a twisted loom. Structure, provided, though barely. The Will was channeled. The Word was ignited. The Wand obeyed, reluctantly.

A faint light sputtered out from the end of the wand, noticeable only in the gloom.

Professor Snape, who had been watching Mr. Ollivander and Aunt Petunia with amusement, turned to look at him suddenly. "Did you just cast the Light Spell?" he asked, loudly.

Mr. Ollivander and Aunt Petunia swivelled around. Mr. Ollivander hurried towards him.

"Through Will alone? It must be very suited to you," he said, excitedly.

"I hate it," Harry said fervently. Mr. Ollivander reared back in shock, and Professor Snape raised an eyebrow.

"It's gross," Harry continued. "It hates me. We don't like each other." The light sputtered out as Harry's disgust overcame his Will.

"There's no structure to it." Harry glared at the wand. "And it asks too much."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Mr. Ollivander said, peering closely at him. Aunt Petunia snarled in disgust. She hated Alice in Wonderland.

Mr. Ollivander peered at him for a long while. Harry held the wand loosely in his hand, trying to minimize the sense of contact.

"Well, then," Mr. Ollivander said, apparently lost in thought.

"This man has a good reputation?" Aunt Petunia asked Professor Snape, loudly. "Are there any more suitable shops?

Professor Snape shook his head. He seemed interested in what was happening. "I've never heard of someone using a wand like that and then complaining about it."

Harry scowled.

Mr. Ollivander suddenly started and dashed into the back of his shop. The sounds of rummaging emerged, and Mr. Ollivander soon emerged with a delicately engraved black box. He opened and withdrew the wand from it with a flourish. "An old masterpiece," he proclaimed. "Applewood and phoenix feather, 12 inches. Suited to those with high ideals and moral fibre." Harry gingerly grasped it, and focused.

The Will was channeled, and it was as though Harry walked within a forest of the mind. High above, a brilliant sun shone down. A path stretched before him, and Harry understood that this wand was sapient, in a way. It had ideals, goals, an understanding of the world that no other wand he had tried could even emulate. And it was as though Harry spoke to it, and it to him. And it was as though they conversed, and had come out of it with friendly disposition towards one another, but the understanding that they were ill-suited together. For this wand was suited to the aspirations of a philosopher-king, and Harry's goals were more self-centered.

"I don't think I'm worthy of this wand," Harry said, handing it back to Mr. Ollivander, who gracefully placed it back in its box. Mr. Ollivander nodded gently, ignoring Aunt Petunia's snort of disdain.

"It takes bravery to admit as much," Mr. Ollivander said. "I made that wand for myself, you see, and was utterly rejected by it. But you should be proud. I could tell, that while that wand may not have accepted you fully, it would have allowed you to wield it." He paused, apparently lost in thought. He shook his head suddenly. "Well, I still have many more wands to try, and I think I know which one is best suited to you, Mr. Potter."

Aunt Petunia startled at this, and as Mr. Ollivander carried the box back to the back of the shop, Professor Snape remarked, "I didn't have much hope of fooling him. He's quite clever."

Mr. Ollivander returned in short order, carrying a short wand. "Holly wood and phoenix feather, 9 inches. A wand of focus and protection."

Harry took it in his hand, and…he felt nothing at all. Or rather, what was that subtle feeling at the back of his mind?

What was in his hand wasn't a tool but an extension of his self. He focused inward, and found not a loom, but an improved ability to thread his soul. A mixture of red and blue sparks erupted from the end of his wand, the sparks flashing and creating a faint purple haze.

Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands. "Well, Mr. Evans, I dare say you're the most difficult customer I've had all month, but then what's life without a little challenge? I do hope you've enjoyed this little trip."

Harry nodded politely .

"So we're done here?" Aunt Petunia asked. "Good. Have a nice day, sir," she said, insincerely. Professor Snape gestured at Harry to follow them, but Mr. Ollivander suddenly seized him and drew him close.

"Hogwarts students are permitted weekend trips," he whispered hurriedly. "Come see me soon. There are things you should know. Now go, and don't tell your aunt or the Professor about this." He released a confused Harry, who nodded and walked swiftly away.

Harry fell into wild imagination about what Mr. Ollivander wanted to tell him. Was it something specific about his wand, like it belonging to some great wizard in the past? Or was it a secret about the very nature of wands? And why didn't he want Professor Snape or Aunt Petunia to know?

Harry was distracted by these thoughts and more while they went about the business of purchasing his books and school supplies. Aunt Petunia had had much to say about the nature of quills and their evidence of the inferiority of wizard society, and for every argument she laid forth Professor Snape had an opposing one about the pathetic muggle reliance on crude technology.

Harry didn't pay them much mind.

Then came the Potions class supplies.

"-Which is why pewter is really the ideal for a student, and those telling you refined iron is a better fit are fools. Looking at the final product and failing to account for the numerous mistakes that the layman will make along the way is typical of people who don't actually practice potion-making-"

"We're all well aware of your unhealthy obsessions," Aunt Petunia interrupted. "Spare us the soliloquies."

"Heathen," Professor Snape muttered. "At the very least I expect Mr. Evans here to demonstrate at least a passing capability in that noble art." He gave Harry a hard look.

Harry looked at the complicated potions equipment, knife sets, spoon sets, cutting boards, and the more exotic-looking beakers and metal containers, and gave Professor Snape an uncomfortable smile.

"I'll do my best, sir," he said. Professor Snape huffed.

The final item on the list was a set of robes. They bought him two sets of used, but serviceable robes off the rack. The proprietor of the tiny shop, Basso, had stumbled around, offering deals on colorful ties, patches, and other accessories. Aunt Petunia had coldly turned down each offer while Professor Snape gleefully watched the short man's increasingly uncomfortable bumbling.

"I assume we're done here?" Aunt Petunia asked sternly, tapping her umbrella against the ground.

"Yes," Professor Snape said, levitating Harry's supplies with his wand and sorting them with his wand. "You'll want to get him a school trunk, but the magical ones are overpriced." He hesitated, then conjured a short piece of parchment and some free-floating ink. He handed the list to Harry.

It read:

 _Magical Theory_

 _A History of Magic_

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_

 _Magical Drafts and Potions_

 _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_

 _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_

"You should read all your books, in this order, before school begins. Don't practice any of the spells, but you should know what you'll be learning," Professor Snape advised him sternly.

"Yes, sir," Harry responded.

So it went. After some stiff farewells, Professor Snape teleported them back to Number 4, Privet Drive.

Harry spent the rest of the summer studying math and magic.

On September 9, Professor Snape teleported him to the King's Cross.


End file.
